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“Aw yeah! She’s my cherry pie,” Dean sang along with the car stereo, going 90 in the middle of nowhere. A petulant whine came from the passenger’s seat.
“Seriously Dean?”
“You know the rules Sammy,” Dean said with a self-satisfied grin, “driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”
“But we’ve heard this song at least ten times today. If I have to hear it one more time I’ll jump out of the moving car and die and then haunt you until you accept that it is now the 1990s.”
Dean had turned the music up somewhere in the middle of Sam’s rant and resumed singing. “Swinging to the left, swinging to the right SORRY SAM, I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE MUSIC.” Dean turned to his little brother to really rub it in.
Sam was shooting him a serious bitchface. Eyes narrowed, mouth tiny, face getting red with anger. “I SAID I HATE THIS SHITTY MUSIC! THIS SONG IS TERRIBLE!”
Dean just shrugged again, pretending not to hear. Sam flipped him off with a glare and turned to look out at all the dark nothingness the window’s view had to offer. The kid made it too easy. Dean turned down the volume after the song ended though, after all, he wasn’t a total jackass.
By the time the tape was over, Sam was still resolutely glaring out the window at absolutely nothing. Dean sighed. Had he been that pissy when he was 13? Doubtful. He reached behind him blindly for a different tape. Zeppelin IV. Classic.
“Dean?” Sammy was using his straight-A student perfect virginal ‘who? me?’ voice, which could only mean trouble. “Could we maybe listen to one of my tapes please?” Dean looked over, and sure enough Sam was looking up at him with a pathetic innocence plastered on his face worthy of a goddamn Charles Dickens orphan. “I have this one mixtape that a friend two schools ago made me. It’s really good.”
“Oh yeah Sammy? What’s on it?”
“Oh man Dean it’s such a cool tape. Jesse’s older sister works at a record label and so he knows tons about music. It’s got a new Radiohead song and this band called Pavement and these British bands called Oasis and Blur and all kinds of great stuff!”
“Are any of them from Seattle?” Dean was suspicious. He was not going to have any cappuccino drinking heroin shooting whiny bitch music playing in his Baby.
“I don’t think so,” Sam said hopefully, biting his little lip.
Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother. “So no Pearl Jam?” Dean hated Pearl Jam with a passion. What was that guy so sad about? He was rich and famous and probably up to his neck in pussy.
Sam sighed. “No Pearl Jam. But honestly Dean I don’t understand what your problem is with them--”
“Okay I’ll give it a listen.”
Sam looked at him like he’d been replaced with a pod person, but popped the tape in quickly before Dean could change his mind.
Dean made it about 20 seconds into a song apparently called “Fake Plastic Trees” before pressing stop and ejecting the tape. “Nope. Not in my Baby. She’ll hear that stuff, get depressed and kill herself. Not gonna happen Sammy.” Sam groaned in frustration but didn’t argue, tucking the tape back into his backpack and staring out the window again.
They pulled off the highway to get gas and a bite to eat around the time they’d usually stop for the night, but they had to meet back up with Dad the next day in northern New Mexico, and there just wasn’t time. Sam left his pout in the car and was all bright dimply smiles and “yes ma’am”s in the diner, earning them extra large servings and the last of the previous day’s pie to go. Dean’s brother may have been a little bitch a lot of the time lately, but he could bring out the doting grandma in even the toughest old truckstop waitress.
Barely a couple hours had gone by since they’d gotten back on the road when Sammy started to squirm a little in his seat, bouncing his knee periodically, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Dean got an evil idea and smiled. “Okay Sammy, here’s the deal,” he said, turning to face his little brother, “if you can hold it as long as I can, then we’ll listen to your tape. Does that sound fair?” This was going to be too easy, Dean thought, watching his little brother already squirming in the seat. “But if you lose Sammy, no being a baby about it, you tell me and I’ll pull over. You are not pissing in these seats, you understand me?”
Sam jut out his chin rebelliously and narrowed his eyes. “Consider it done jerk.”
At least the kid had spirit. “Whatever you say bitch.”
Dean was actually pretty impressed. From the way Sam had been shifting around in his seat, he hadn’t expected the kid to make it an hour, much less the four he was clocking. There was no way he could hold out much longer though. Dean was doing fine. (It helped that he was 6’1” and had a full-sized adult bladder.) Sam, on the other hand, looked miserable, and if Dean was sick for thinking Sam was adorable all red in the face and chewing on his lips and squeezing his legs together? Then Dean was sick. He could live with it. It wasn’t the first time Dean thoroughly enjoyed watching his brother be uncomfortable, and it wouldn’t be the last. Sam had always been incredibly ticklish, which was cute and a great way to make him squeal with laughter, but Dean kind of preferred it when the delight turned to something sicker and darker. He loved coaxing barks of laughter out of Sammy’s scrunched up face, keeping his little legs from kicking all over the place as he hoarsely yelled “Stop it!!”
Actually, that gave Dean an idea. He snaked out his right arm and pinched Sammy in the side.
Sammy squeaked, which was so cute Dean could just eat him up. He went for it again, slipping up the front of Sam’s t shirt and going for the kid’s tummy.
“Aw Dean come on! No fair,” Sam protested, trying to get away. But there was nowhere for him to go. Even plastered against the passenger door, he was still within Dean’s reach, and Dean used the opportunity to nip at the kid’s hip and lower back. “STOP IT DEAN I REALLY HAVE TO GO,” Sam shouted, eyes full of tears, so Dean pulled over and Sam scrambled out of the car.
Dean watched Sam fumble with his zipper, but he was too late. The wet spot at the crotch of his jeans spread down the middle of his legs. Piss pooled at his feet, Payless shoes getting soaked in it. “No,” Sam whispered, tears falling down his face, sparkling a little in the moonlight.
Dean got out of the car and opened the trunk, grabbing (relatively) fresh underwear, socks and jeans from Sam’s duffel. He looked for Wet Wipes, but they were all out. Sam would have to make do with a regular towel until he had a chance to shower. He had taken it way too far, he understood that. It was just that, peeling the soiled jeans off his crying baby brother, Dean couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad.
“It’s okay Sammy,” he soothed, walking half-naked Sam away from the pile of dirty clothes and puddle of urine.
“P-promise you won’t tell dad,” Sam choked out between small sobs.
“Of course I won’t,” Dean promised, toweling off Sam’s legs and butt. He was on his knees on the side of the road at 5 AM in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere with his little brother’s dick in his face. “But if I don’t clean this up, you’re going to get a rash.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but it felt true, and that was good enough.
“What are you-- ohmygoddeanwha--”
Sam’s flaccid cock was silky soft in Dean’s mouth, tasting of acrid piss and teenage boy. This is what older brothers did, Dean reasoned, they tormented their younger siblings and then kissed it better. Dean moved to Sam’s balls, dusted with light brown hairs, licking them clean and reveling in the little sounds Sammy was making. The kid’s dick was chubbing up from all the attention, Dean noticed with a smirk. He licked where Sammy's thighs met his hips, "accidentally" sucking a few hickeys into the pale soft skin.
Sam honest-to-God whimpered. When Dean looked up at him he saw his little brother's face was caught at the crossroads of mortified, furious, confused and turned on. He had stopped crying for the most part, but his moans were interrupted every once in a while with a little hiccup or sniffle. The sight made Dean's chest feel kind of full. (His dick too.) A perfect bead of precome was forming at the head of Sammy's cock, and Dean didn't even think before he licked it off.
"Dean, please," Sam whispered, thrusting weakly.
"Please what?"
Sam blushed and his bottom lip quivered a little. He was so cute. Dean had the cutest little brother in the world. There was no way Dean could pass up torturing him just a little bit more.
"Dean come on, please?"
"Sammy, you gotta give me a break here buddy. I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Dean! You're such-- you-- you make me piss my pants like a little kid and then you drag me out here and mess with me I mean-- ohgod!"
Dean took Sam in to the root, grabbing the kid's ass and holding him still. Sammy's fingers scrambled against his scalp. It took about a minute before Sam was shooting down his older brother's throat, whining "Deeaaaaaan" and thrusting shallowly. Dean licked him clean with a smirk, listening to his baby brother trying to catch his breath.
--
"I can't believe you pissed your pants," Dean chuckled, taking a long gulp of hard-earned diner coffee.
Sam rolled his eyes while he chewed his toast. "Says the guy who licked me clean."
"Touché."